The Theory of Everything (17 page)

“Smart girl,” she said. “You'll be back there soon.”

I sat in the backseat with my blanket and pillow. Some mornings I woke up still in the backseat, driving around the city. I felt a breeze or smelled food cooking, morning air blowing in, filling the car with the rest of the world. I liked it better when the windows were closed, when it was just the smell of my blanket and Mom's flowery lotion. One morning I woke up and the car was parked in the driveway. Mom was in the front seat, drinking coffee. She said she didn't want to wake me up because I was sleeping so well. Another time Dad was in the front seat, snoring. I guess she didn't want to wake him up, either. And still other times, he was already home when we got back, a box of doughnuts in his hands and a smile on his face. “My girls!” he'd say. “I've been waiting for you. I brought sprinkles!”

At the time, it never occurred to me that this wasn't normal—driving around looking for your father instead of just having him there, sleeping, making pancake faces when you woke up in the morning.

“You know I love you, don't you?” Mom would always say. Whether she was taking me out of bed and into the night or trying to make me feel good after Dad left, she always said it the same way, like a quiz. Like she was checking to make sure that even with the chaos in our lives, I knew the answer:
Yes.

|||||||||||

I added some confetti into my pocket and walked upstairs. My legs moved slowly, like sandbags. Step, step. Away from the past. Step, step, into the future. The weight of a thousand conversations in a box at the bottom of the stairs. I opened the door and the smell of tomato sauce hit me in the face. Peyton stood at the stove, stirring with a wooden spoon.

“Perfect timing,” she said. “Dinner's ready.”

“I'm not hungry,” I said, my eyes glazing. “I think I have to go to bed now. Like, immediately.”

“You're not going to tell us about the basement?” Finny said.

My right knee buckled.

“Can we talk tomorrow?”

Peyton put her arm around me, which I would have resisted if I hadn't been so tired.

“It's late,” she said. “Head upstairs and take the second bedroom on the left. I'll be up to check on you soon.”

“Me too,” Finny said, his voice like an echo.

Hours later, I woke up, yawned and stretched my arms over my head. The room was dark, and the blanket was scratchy, like my throat. Finny came into focus, sitting in a chair in the corner.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“One o'clock,” he said. “You've been asleep for a few hours.”

“Why aren't you in bed?”

“I felt bad,” he said. “You went down there by yourself, and I stayed upstairs and talked to Peyton, and when you came up, you looked really upset. I just wanted to be here in case you woke up.”

“You're reading Dad's book, aren't you?” I said.

“Of course,” he said, grinning. “Like you could keep me away from it.”

I could tell he wanted to launch into a conversation about Dad and his amazing brain, but I wasn't up for it. I flopped a sleeve against my face. Flannel. Like Dad used to wear. I loved that even under extreme duress, my brain knew enough to put me in comfy clothes.

“What are you wearing?” I said, pointing to his jogging pants and sweatshirt.

“Whatever Peyton left out for me,” he said. “Same as you. She's washing our clothes.”

“Why?” I said. “We only wore them one day.”

“I think she just wanted something to do,” he said. “That or they had travel smell.”

I laughed and sank into my pillows. “We should go to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”

“A big day of what?”

“Seeing whatever you came to New York to see,” I said. “I know you're here to meet my dad, but this is the greatest city in the world. Don't you want to go to the World Science Festival?”

“That was in June,” he said. “But maybe I could go to the Museum of Natural History after we've done some Dad research.”

“Perfect,” I said, even though I was developing another plan that didn't include Finny. “But all work and no play makes Finny kind of a pain to be around. I'll talk to Dad's old coworkers while you hit the library. Then we'll meet, share intel, and you can go do something cool. Deal?”

“Deal,” he said, yawning. “You know, your dad was kind of brilliant.”

“Is kind of brilliant,” I said. I felt shaky on the inside. “I overheard you, you know.”

“Overheard what?”

“On the stairs,” I said. “Before the basement.”

“Sophie . . .”

“It's okay,” I said. “It wasn't my fault. I didn't kick Dad out, Mom did.”

“I was going to tell you,” he said. “I wanted to wait until you had some sleep.”

“It's not your job to tell me,” I said. “That job belongs to Mom.”

Finny sat on the edge of my bed, sinking in as I felt my heart do the same. “Can I ask you a question?”

I nodded as he moved even closer.

“Can I give you a hug?”

I wanted to say no. I wanted to be the girl of steel, the one who didn't need anyone or anything, but I knew we were past that. Finny knew my truths and hadn't told anyone. And no matter what amount of weirdness I threw at him, he was still there.

“I guess a hug wouldn't kill me,” I said, sitting up off the pillows.

And even though he wasn't that much taller than me, Finny scooped me up like Walt, reaching around and right through to my heart. I coughed and tried to push back a sob.

“Let it go,” he said into my hair. “Your secret's safe with me.”

I leaned in, and the tears came. My whole body shook as I cried like I did when I was little, like when Dad left. But Finny stayed right where he was. He didn't bundle me up and put me in the car in the middle of the night or pretend he didn't hear me. He held on and didn't let go. All so that I could.

Now I know how Joan of Arc felt—as the flames rose to her Roman nose and her Walkman started to melt.

—The Smiths, “Bigmouth Strikes Again”

“Finny says you have a boyfriend,” Peyton said, standing in the doorway.

I opened my eyes and looked around like I did every time we moved to a new town.

“Not exactly,” I said, realizing I was in New York. I sat up and threw a heavy quilt off me.

“I thought Finny was your boyfriend,” she said, handing me a glass of orange juice.

“He's gay,” I said, sipping it, citrus washing over my tongue.

“Oh,” she said. “He's really cute.”

“True,” I said. “He's going to make some boy extremely happy one day.”

She stood by the bed like she wanted to sit on it, but we weren't there yet. “Did you sleep okay? That quilt can be kind of hot.”

I held a piece of it in my hand. Maybe it was her quilt, made by someone who loved her, pieces of her childhood in one place instead of scattered, like mine. Maybe the red patch with the bright green apples was from a dress she wore on the first day of kindergarten, which she hated because she was taller than everyone else. Maybe the dress that had seen her through a horrible day had just seen me through a rough night.

“I slept fine,” I said, leaning back into the pillows. “Is this your quilt?”

“My grandmother made it,” she said. “It's nice to have someone you love make you something.”

“I'd rather have the person,” I said, thinking about the way Dad tucked me in at night if he was home, or surprised me with breakfast in the morning when he returned.

“So would I,” she said.

She leaned over and patted my hand. I knew I should respond, but my body wouldn't move. My hand stayed stiff like something out of the morgue, which made her remove hers.

“I talked to your mom this morning,” she said. “Since you have to go back tonight, would you like to go into the city with me? I have to work for a few hours, but I can hang out with you guys after that.”

I got out of bed and walked to the window. Gray clouds marched in like robots, defending the sky.

“There isn't something more important you have to do today?”

I was planning on lying to her about my search for Dad—that wasn't the point. The point was that she was thinking about the Statue of Liberty and Central Park while I was focused on uncovering answers. Securing sanity. Finding my father.

“I haven't given up on him,” she said, joining me at the window. She'd abandoned the whole turquoise motif for black pants, a black sweater and an orange wooden necklace. “But there's nothing to do at this point but wait. You might as well enjoy the city while you're here.”

Adults had this insane ability to compartmentalize. I'd watched my mom do it and tried to copy her because it seemed so convenient. Emotions? On. Emotions? Off. It was the kind of thing that could come in handy, post-episode, but I never made it work. Maybe I needed more practice, but when something was going on with me, it was
really going on.
At least in my brain. Even if my feet kept walking, my mind was still there, fully obsessed with the problem. But maybe it would work. Just this once.

“You're right,” I said, turning away from the window. Lying for the greater good. “We'd love to meet up with you, but I want to take Finny to my favorite breakfast place before we hit Chinatown.”

“I don't know,” she said. “I promised your mom I'd look after you. What would she think if I let you run around New York by yourself?”

“She wouldn't think twice about it,” I said. “I lived here for years and took the subway to school with her and everywhere else, for that matter. I know my way around.”

She looked worried, but then she looked at her watch. It was delicate and small.

“I don't love this idea, but I have to get to a meeting,” she said. “I'll leave a MetroCard and an extra key for you on the hall table. Finny gave me both of your cell numbers, and he has mine, so just call me after Chinatown. At the very least, I want to take you to dinner tonight. Anywhere you want.”

“Anywhere?” I said, thinking about all the things I missed, from pizza to pierogi. “I'd love Italian. If we're lucky, maybe Dad will even show up.”

It left my mouth before I had a chance to catch it. Peyton leaned back against the wall.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I'm horrible until I've had coffee.”

“I'll remember that,” she said. “But considering you traveled for twenty hours to see your dad and ended up with me, I'll let it slide. That is, if you promise to meet me for dinner.”

“Deal,” I said, knowing it wasn't. I had no idea where the day would take me.

She smiled, walked out of my room and then turned back around. “I want to find him as much as you do,” she said. “I just wanted you to know that.”

When I heard the lock click, I thought about what I'd do if I were her. If she cared as much as I did, I'd think she'd use every single second—especially ones with his daughter—to find him. No farewell dinner, not even if it consisted entirely of chocolate, could change the fact that she'd given up.

I got my phone out of my bag and turned it on. I'd turned it off after talking to Mom last night, afraid she'd call. I wasn't ready to talk to her yet, not now, knowing what I knew about us leaving Dad instead of the other way around. I clicked on Drew's name, thinking I might text him, but the phone started ringing instead. I'd accidentally called him. And before I had the chance to hang up—

“Hello?”

His voice had the same effect on me that his hand did when it brushed my sweater.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hey,” he said. “Are you back?”

“Nope,” I said. “Still in New York.”

“Wait, you're in New York?”

I had to be careful—Drew only knew part of the story—but his voice made careful go out the window.

“Yeah,” I said. “I'm visiting my dad.”

“Are you going to Strand? The book mecca of the East?”

“Of course,” I said, wishing I had time for anything but the search. “You've been?”

“Only once,” he said. “But I'd live there if I could.”

Swooooon.

“Sophie!” Finny's voice floated through the door. “Are you up?”

“Is that your dad?” Drew asked. If only.

“Cousin,” I said. “I hate to do this, but I called you on accident. I mean, I was going to call you later, but I didn't mean to call you now, and people are waiting for me.”

I opened the door, pointed to my phone and mouthed “Drew.” Finny hopped up and down, which was annoying but at least it didn't make noise.

“And I have to go to school,” Drew said. “But I like hearing you.”

“Hearing me what?”

“Your voice,” he said.

“Oh.” I collapsed back onto the bed. I knew I was supposed to say something witty, but I was stunned. He liked my voice.

“Hey, do you want to have lunch this weekend? Will you be back?” he said.

“Maybe lunch or real lunch?”

“Real lunch,” he said. “If you promise not to run away, I promise to have lunch.”

“I'm not going to run away,” I said. Not after I found Dad. Not after I found some answers.

“Cool,” he said. “It will be like our own secret rule. No running allowed.”

“Maybe I should wear heels,” I said. “You know, to hinder my bolting instinct.”

“I like your shoes,” he said. I looked over and saw my Docs standing in a corner by themselves. I liked
him.

“Me too,” I said.

“Sophie!” Finny shouted through the door. “We need to go.”

“Okay, I have to go,” I said, even though I could have stayed on that phone forever.

“Yeah,” Drew said. “Me too. So I'll see you soon?”

“You will,” I said, wondering if I'd be a different person. Hoping I'd come home better—and saner—than when I left. I hung up quickly before I said something stupid. It was inevitable, but my awkwardness would have to wait. Today was going to be tough enough.

“Anytime today would be nice,” Finny yelled through the door.

I was hungry and definitely needed coffee, but this might be the last time I saw this house, the last known place Dad had been. Maybe there was a clue I had missed, or maybe I just wanted a moment here. Another peek at the basement. Good thing Finny could fend for himself.

“Why don't you go ahead?” I said. “You know how long it takes a girl to get ready.”

“Almost as long as me!” Finny said.

I opened the door a crack and stuck my head out.

“Yes, you need a shower,” he said. “And yes, I'm dying to hear about your little love chat with Drew.”

“All in good time,” I said. “Which will be about thirty minutes.”

“I'll be one coffee ahead of you,” Finny said, bounding down the stairs. “Come any later and I'll be jittery.”

“I'll be there!” I shouted, meaning it. I was definitely a little wacky on two cups of coffee, but Finny was beyond. It was like the caffeine tapped into the part of his brain that loved physics and opened a secret door, the one that made connections to everything. Maybe that was what had happened to Dad. Maybe if he'd switched to herbal tea, he'd be here right now.

|||||||||||

I had packed another skirt and could have worn something else, but I saw my clothes, clean and stacked on the dresser. The elephant skirt seemed lucky, like the time Dad told me he walked home with elephants. Two of them lumbered on either side of him like a wall, protecting him from the outside, but gentle creatures, protecting him from his insides. Each step thumped, like the echo of a thousand friends. Elephants carried you when you couldn't go the distance, he said. They made you feel less alone.

I threw on the skirt, a long-sleeved T-shirt and my short-sleeved tape tree shirt in honor of Dad. Mixtapes hung from its branches instead of fruit. There had to be something promising about that.

“Perfection,” I said, packing the rest of my bag and heading to the kitchen. I wrote Peyton a note, asking her to send the box of tapes to my address in Havencrest, and then I leaned it next to the phone. The phone I should have used to check in with Mom, but I wasn't going to do that. Not yet. Then I turned to the basement, its aqua doorknob gleaming in the morning light.

As soon as I opened the door, I wished I hadn't. Without the romance of the evening or the twinkling lights, the basement looked dirty, like the contents of a crazy brain spread out in the sunlight. Since I didn't know when—or if—I was ever coming back, I took a mental picture of it. And then, because it was depressing, I erased it.

I closed the basement door, blew a kiss to the kitchen table and waved good-bye to my photo on the mantel. As I stepped out onto the stoop, I felt a drop on my head. Then two drops. Then rain fell like little tennis balls, pounding my back. I ran toward the diner, dodging raindrops, but bumped into a green umbrella with white polka dots instead. And the panda who was holding it.

“Nice timing,” I said, slipping underneath.

“Isn't it always?” The rain hit the top of the umbrella, making a nice
plop
and then a
swoosh
as it slid off the side.

“Where are you headed?” he said.

“To meet Finny,” I said. “Breakfast.”

“Yum,” he said. “I could destroy a Greek omelet about now. How'd it go with your dad?”

I started to tell him the whole thing—Dad's car and the kitchen table, Peyton and the basement—when I realized that Walt was omniscient. He knew where I was and when I needed help, which could only mean one thing.

“
You
knew,”
I said, backing out from under the umbrella.

“Knew what?”

“That Dad was missing.”

“Come back, you're going to get soaked,” he said. “And I didn't know for sure. I hoped he'd show up by the time you got here.”

“God!” I said, stomping my boots in a puddle, sending rain up onto my knees. “I can't believe you! You're all
Sophie, watch for signs. Sophie, pay attention. Sophie, stay on the path.
And all this time, you knew my path would lead me to nothing?”

“I wouldn't say nothing,” he said. “What about the book? The basement? The tapes?”

“A mixtape is not a substitute for a person,” I said, and I knew. I'd been trying that for years. “I need my dad.”

Tears ran down my face, mixing with raindrops. Before New York, I thought that letters or phone calls would be enough, but they weren't. I wanted more.

“I helped you the only way I could,” he said. “I can't predict the future.”

Walt walked closer and extended the umbrella over me so that he was left out in the rain, unprotected.

“Tell me where he is,” I said.